Ben's Clues
by ThatAloneOne
Summary: There's something off about Ben's life. Clues, everywhere, adding up to a picture of something missing. Because even angels can't erase everything. (Mary knew the angels were watching over her. Ben knows that someone was watching over him too.)
1. The Simple Clues

Ben knew something was off about his life.

The first clue Ben found was the fact that he knew how to fix a car. Nobody had ever shown him, not that he could remember. But one time when his car died at the side of road he pulled up the hood and just _knew _that it was the alternator on the fritz again. He was able to tinker around for a few minutes and it was fixed. The engine purred like a kitten.

The second clue was the car itself. He'd bought it on a whim one day, when he went to the second-hand car yard to pick his birthday gift. He wanted a sort of pick up truck, he'd thought, something to carry all of his things in without exploding or making him look like a soccer mom.

But he took one look at the green Impala and bought it. It was like he'd seen it somewhere before, even though it wasn't the most common car. It almost seemed _too_ familiar. Deja vu. It made him uneasy.

His third clue was his mother's reaction to the car. When she heard the engine rumbling up the drive, she'd run to the front door like a woman possessed, tears streaking down her cheeks. When she saw it, green glory shining, she pressed a hand to her chest and hid in her room for an hour. When she came out, she claimed no memory of the events.

But Ben did. And he knew something was off.


	2. The Food Clues

The second set of clues was harder to see. It had taken Ben a while to figure out that they _were _clues at all.

Simple things, really. He classified it in the 'Food' category of clues. There were the 'Car' clues, and now 'Food' clues.

The first food clue was pie.

Ben had no idea how he had suddenly become so fond of pie. It was like one day in his tweens he had woken up beside his mother in the hospital after_ the accident, _and decided that his new favourite food was pie.

Any kind of pie, except pumpkin. Pumpkin didn't count because it didn't have the crusty top layer dusted with sugar. That was made pie _pie._ And pie was awesome.

Ben counted pie as the most ridiculous of the clues, but it was a clue nonetheless.

The other of the duo of 'Food' clues was the salt. Salt, salt, and more salt. Ben seemed to require packets of salt on his person at all times. Whenever something happened that startled him, he'd reach for his pocket and the salt contained within, as if it would send an attacker screaming.

It was just salt. Ordinary salt. He didn't even like it on his potatoes.

Ben had no idea why he was suddenly overly fond of salt and pie, but it was _off._ Like his life. And Ben was determined to find out what was going on.

* * *

><p><strong>Hello! Just a few things to throw you guys a bone. This story will be updated on Tuesdays. There's gonna be five sets of clues, then an actual story. I have no idea how long. The short bits are the way of letting me get a little ahead, as I'm a paranoid and busy person. If you review, I'll reply. I hope everyone has fun!<br>**

**And I never name my muses. But this one wanted a name. I named it Crowley. Because, really, it's evil. I have so many other things I should be doing. Sigh.**


	3. The Monstrous Clues

The third, and most disturbing, set of clues, was Ben's instinctive and ridiculous knowledge of all things monstrous. It was like his subconscious had decided to sneak out and read trashy teen novels behind his back, coming back with (air quotes) 'helpful' tidbits.

For instance, Ben was out with his friends one summer day as they bummed around town, pretending that school wasn't actually going to start in a little under two weeks. The guys were discussing this new movie or whatever about werewolves while Ben tinkered with his car, trying to figure out how far the 'Car' clues went as far as maintenance. He wanted to get better gas mileage out of the old car, even though a gruff little voice in the back of his head laughed and _laughed_ at the very idea. One of his friends had commented on the hairiness of a werewolf and Ben had replied without thinking. "No, that's ridiculous. Werewolves don't get all hairy."

That had garnered him unadulterated heckling for the next while. But Ben couldn't help himself. When werewolves were brought up the next time, Ben, again distracted, had replied to a comment about the 'wickedness' of a werewolf eating a victims guts. "No, that's ridiculous," he'd said. "Werewolves just eat the heart."

And that was just on the topic of werewolves. He had other gems to offer, such as ones on vampires. "They're fine in the sun. It just stings, like a bad burn. If they apply sunblock, they'll be fine." And "Staking them? Ha. You have to behead those suckers."

After that, Ben had been forced to find some new friends that didn't talk about werewolves and vampires so much. It made his head feel funny, like using a donor limb that still remembered how to play cards.

That was when Ben got serious about these clues. They had been weird and yet somewhat cool back when he was sixteen and finding an awesome new car. Now, a little under a year later, they were beginning to make him uneasy. And he had giving up trying to give them clever names, categories, labels. They defied normalcy in every way. And judging by _any_ standards, that wasn't a good thing

* * *

><p><strong>Hello again! I know I'm personally not a fan of massively<strong> **long authors notes, so I'll keep it short. Thank you so much for all the reviews and support. You guys are awesome. I didn't expect anyone to read this at all lol. **

**Crowley has some pretty devious plans for the actual story part once we're done with Ben angsting over the clues Dean's left in his life. The clues are hilarious to me because I know everything (from the show). Hope they're amusing to you too!**


	4. The People Clues

The fourth set of clues were ones that came in from all sides. People around him said clues, and then became clues.

After the car accident, Ben and his mom went back home. Their home seemed empty, lacking something, and there was that ever-present salt stuck into cracks in the windowsill. They never did manage to get it all out, yet nobody ever seemed to look at it twice.

Sometimes, someone would mention how great the barbecues had been last year, but then their faces would go curiously blank and they'd start talking about cheese or Finland or some other ridiculous topic. His mother did it too, but Ben wasn't in on this complicated evasion of certain topics. He was just confused.

And suspicious.

Sometimes, when he was older, people he hadn't seen in a long long time, since ages before that accident when all the clues started, would say something and actually get it all out before the blankness and thoughts of Finland took over. They'd say things.

Things like, _**Where's that man you were living with way back when. Deacon?**_

Things like, _**You certainly have a type, Lisa. **And then they'd laugh and elbow each other.** Who was your favourite? The one with the green eyes?**_

Things like, _**Didn't Ben say something about a new dad when he visited all those years ago? No?**_

It was all adding up to one thing. There'd been a man here, the year before the accident. A man with green eyes and a devilish smile and a leather jacket who apparently really liked burgers. A man that nobody could remember for more than a _second _after mentioning him. And Ben didn't remember him at all.

And Ben didn't believe in selective amnesia or brainwashing, but by the time he was seventeen, the references to that unknown man were driving him mad. He was the only one who could remember these discussions, these words, these overhead details. _Why?_

Ben didn't like it. Not one single bit.

* * *

><p><strong>Bonjour! Things are really starting to heat up here, eh? Now we're dancing around Dean! He's got an (almost) name! Ben's got an (almost) description! Ben is now TOTALLY suspicious! Yay!<strong>

**I'm so sorry that this is being updated so slowly. I'm starting on writing the actual story now and stuff, so it's definitely coming along nicely. **

**And by 'nicely', I mean that the story is allowing itself to be written. Not that the story is nice. Because it's not. And Crowley is being really quite evil and I'm terribly sorry for all the plot twists I am going to be torturing you guys with. I've got this absolute WHAMMY that at first seems like nothing and then seems like a HOLY COW and then Crowley is still busy cackling over what I'm going to do after that. **

**Anyway, this note turned out WAY longer than I intended it to and I'm terribly sorry about that. Just one more week left of clues and then I shall dump my first-ever actual-fanfic actual-story chapter upon you! Huzzah! Thanks again to everyone whose reviewed - you've turned me into a compulsive email checker! :) It makes me feel a lot better about this story. **


	5. The Last Clues

The final clues weren't something Ben could quantify. It wasn't comments from nowhere, a strange liking for desserts, or a supernatural affinity for cars.

It was a feeling. A feeling that something greater was out there. When his mother prayed, faithful after the accident, he couldn't find it in himself to believe that the angels, or God, gave a crap. He could believe that they existed, easily, _too_ easily, but he couldn't think of why they'd bother. A somewhat ridiculous name was preferred by that gruff voice in the back of his head. _Fluffy winged asshats_.

He got the feeling that wasn't the usual nickname for the angels.

There was another feeling too, one that went along with that gruff voice that seemed all-too familiar. A feeling of safety. But not just that. The knowledge that there was someone who could save the world, _had_ saved the world, and would do anything to save him too.

Of course, along with that was sorrow. And betrayal. And dozens of other interwoven incredibly confusing emotions that kept trying to bury themselves. Just like all the other clues.

Ben didn't really understand that. He'd never really had a role model like that. Not a father figure, either. Lisa... Well, she'd had relationships, but they were over too fast. She expected the world from those leather-jacket-toting men and they couldn't give it to her. So Ben never really latched on to a man like that. But it was what he imagined it must feel like.

Sometimes, when Ben was too tired to think straight he'd hear that voice a little more clearly, telling him to sleep. Sometimes he'd almost feel a ghostly hand ruffle his hair like he was twelve again.

When Ben was too tired even for that, the clues all seemed to come together like the strangest puzzle in all of existence. Telling tales of a missing piece in his life.

A man. Possibly named Deacon, or not, but it definitely started with a D. A man who fit his mothers type to a T - leather jacket and devil-may-care smile and the greenest eyes. A man who could barbecue like nobodies business, liked pie more than was natural, and relied on salt to protect him from many things. "Fluffy winged asshats" apparently not among them, as that gruff voice grumbled, seemingly irritated by the fact.

When Ben woke up the mornings after, the puzzle was shattered again, leaving only the impression that something really _was_ wrong with his life. Had been since his mother was injured in a car crash all those years ago.

Ben just never expected the truth to be so deadly.

* * *

><p><strong>*cackles madly* And here, the story begins...<strong>

**Well, next week, anyway. I feel awful for leaving you on a cliffhanger like that. Well. Actually, I feel great, but in theory, just assume that I'm weeping at my computer because I can tell I'm being evil but I _just don't care_. **

**Ahem. Anyhoozle. **

**Rating is now upped to T for obvious reasons (you can't say "Fluffy winged asshats" to small children after all), but there won't be any F-Bombs or the like. **

**Regarding the AU status of this, I just wanted to clear some stuff up. Up until now, this can all be considered relatively canon. There is no _way_ that Dean didn't spew hunter stuff while around Ben for an entire year. All of these clues are completely legitimate. Once the story starts, though, it becomes AU. Some characters and stuff show up (although it makes total sense within canon up until they meet S&D&C) and they didn't mention anything like that in the show. It's really only AU in the way of Well-This-Didn't-Happen-But-It-Totally-Could-Have not AU as in OMG I AM DEAN AND ERMAGERD I SOUND LIKE A TEENAGE GIRL AND OOH LOOK IT'S THE SCHOOL GEEK CASTIEL THATS TOTALLY NOT A WEIRD NAME AND I'M IN LUUUUUURVE.**

**Sorry about that. That's just what comes to mind when I think "SUPERNATURAL AU" and this story is NOT that. At. All. **

**Next chapter will send you hurtling straight into the story, with your introduction to Ben And His Life Now. Seeing as the last sentence was all cliche BEN NEVER EXPECTED THE TRUTH TO BE SO DEADLY clearly there will be at least one death because Supernatural. Think of this as your intro to Ben and his intro to Supernatural and wow I really need to stop talking. Apologies.**

**If anyone wants to review predicting the story, I'm pretty sure you'll be wrong, but I'm also pretty sure it'll be amusing, so go ahead! Hugs to everyone who reviewed and made my day!**


	6. The Red Car & Terry

Ironically enough, it all started with another car. Ben had started work at the local mechanics, using the weird knowledge and passion for cars as his future career. He'd taken a work placement, getting his mechanics degree while simultaneously earning the money needed to get his mechanics degree. It worked out quite nicely. Ben was able to get an education, to get a job, to pay for his education. Most people didn't have it that well.

Ben always took great care with the cars under his attention, making sure not to make them any worse. Many of the incoming cars were in terrible condition, and Ben was sure that they left just that bit much better off. He couldn't say the same for some of the other workers. They were college students, like him, but they couldn't seem to care less about the cars. They were in it for the money, not the job.

It came back to bite them.

One Wednesday morning, a gloomy one that befit Wednesday well, a special car came into the shop. It was red, a glossy untouched finish that seemed to shine like blood in the diffuse light.

Ben was at the front desk at the time, trying to argue a recalcitrant customer into replacing their brakes - they'd come in for an oil change but the real problem was the brake lines. They didn't agree.

Ben insisted. They didn't agree.

Ben threatened to confiscate their car for being unsafe. They gave in.

Ben walked into the shop, chuckling. "Got another customer that seems to think he doesn't need new brakes until he crashes through an intersection."

There was no reply. Ben's step quickened, making his way around the shelf of spare parts into the main shop. One of his fellow college students, Terry, was bent over the front wheel of the car. Beside him, bolts and a wrench lay in disarray.

Ben relaxed, his hand drifting away from the pocket full of salt. "Sleeping on the job again, eh Terry?"

Terry didn't reply.

Ben hurried over, shaking his shoulder. "Terry!"

For a second, he didn't see anything wrong but a tiny scrape in the paint, a gash in the finish from a careless wrench.

But then Ben saw Terry's neck, a second smile grinning with gore. He backpedalled, sprawling back in the floor and scrabbling for that salt _salt would protect him._

He watched with a kind of numb disbelief, hands shaking and coated in crystal grains that weren't doing anything to dispel the horror before him as Terry's blood, once slicked in a barely-visible swath like an artful stroke of paint, was _moving_. It crept towards the gap in the paint like a river drawn towards a gully, twisted gravity pulling it in.

When Ben blinked, the scrape in the paint was gone. He shivered, whole body trying to shake off the sight of blood and the sudden chill that permeated the room like ice carved snakes sliding down his back.

* * *

><p><strong>Ack! I'm super nervous about this. What do you guys think?<strong>

**So, Benny Boy has encountered his first... Thing. *jazz hands* SUPERNATURAL.**


	7. The Investigation & The Dream

"So you were in the front?" The officer said, eyebrows raised. He clearly didn't believe Ben. "And you didn't hear anything? A scream, a clang, the door opening?"

Ben shook his head numbly. The events were crystal clear, paintings on glass. He had argued with a customer, laughed as he walked back in the shop, seen Terry slumped over the wheel, shook his shoulder, t_he body_'s shoulder, seen the blood bubble and writhe, sealing the crack in the paint like it was never there.

He didn't mention the last part to the cops. For once, his common sense and gruff voice had agreed on something. His common sense insisted that he was hallucinating, that the stress was too much to bear. The gruff voice told him to go get a beer and think on it. Oh, and to restock on salt.

Ben compromised. He stuck his salt shaker in his pocket and called it a night.

* * *

><p>His dreams were full of screaming.<p>

His mother's screams, dark laughter behind it, revelling in terror. The warm trickling of blood against his skin, the sharp coolness of a knife against his throat and his mother's hair tickling his cheek as she laughed, eyes black.

He dreamt of another hospital bed, this one surrounded by beeping machines and his mother covered in tubes and she was _dying_ and Ben was so, so frightened.

And he remembered the man's voice, the voice in the back of his head and the one that seemed to lend itself well to tips on monsters and pie. Ben remembered him saying _Sorry I'm so sorry_. And he remembered being so _angry_.

When he woke, soaked in cold sweat, all he could remember was the thought that he really wanted some pie.

* * *

><p><strong>Hey again! Sorry for it being a little late, I've been so massively busy. This is incredibly short and I am so sorry. It's just how it happened, flow of the writing and whatnot.<strong>

**Now, I wanted to ask you something. Background first - I am a chunky writer. I won't write anything at all for weeks and months, and then I'll suddenly write like ten thousand words. This can be a problem when planning updates. Now, I am a little ahead on Ben's Clues. I can post twice a week from now on, if you guys like, but that also creates the possibility of a stoppage later on as I scramble to get my brain back in writing mode. Are you guys okay with that? Its unlikely it'll happen, but I just wanted to give you the heads up. The second post of the week would be on Friday or Saturday, if anyone has a preference.**

**Anyway, thanks so much to everyone who's reviewed! You make my day! Happy Tuesday!**


	8. The Next Day At Work & Agent Smith

The next day at work was a nightmare. They'd called in someone else to help Ben on the shifts he usually shared with Terry - someone even less competent, if that was possible. The kid was afraid of his own shadow, and _terrified_ of cars.

Ben stayed far, _far_ away from the blood car. Theoretically, all of the blood had been carefully wiped off and examined by police officers, and the car was clean. Ready to be fixed and returned to its psychopathic owner, who didn't seem to care that a kid had died on its slick red surface.

But all Ben could think of was the way Terry's blood had crept across the slick surface, turning the crevasse of bare metal into careful painted perfection. It made him think _How much of that paint is blood if whoever scratches it pays for repairs with their life? _Even Ben The Boring, as he'd been christened by the workers here, scratched a car sometimes. You just couldn't _not_.

A shadow fell over him and Ben startled, throwing an elbow into the gut of the man leaning over him.

There wasn't much gut to the man, a skinny, kiddish sort of person with crinkled eyes. He jumped backwards, waving his hands in surrender. "Hey, hey, man, everything's A-O-Kay."

Ben put his wrench down, not realizing that he'd been holding it threateningly. The man smiled. Held up a badge. "Agent Smith, FBI. But you can call me Garth."

Ben crossed his arms. "I already told the police. I didn't hear anything. Didn't see anything. I was arguing with Mrs. Masters about the quality of her brakes-"

"I know, I know." The man said, chuckling. "I was just going to ask a few routine questions."

The voice in the back of Ben's head gave him a few colourful opinions on how useful the FBI was.

_Of course_, it added. _If they're not FBI, they can actually be quite useful._

Ben scowled, more to the voice than the agent. "Fine."

The agent took out a piece of paper, propped it on the back of his badge. "Did you feel any cold spots during the day that day?"

"What kind of a question is that?"

"A routine one, like I said." The agent laughed nervously. "Gotta tick those boxes."

The phrase sounded a little too familiar to Ben. And he couldn't pinpoint _why_, but he lied through his teeth. "No, no cold spots."

Garth nodded, shifted. "What about strange smells? Any sulphur, smells like-"

"Rotten eggs, I know. I passed high school science." Ben said. Picked up his wrench again. "Now, if you don't mind, I have a car to fix."

Garth muttered something under his breath, something about Ben reminding him of an old friend. Ben ignored him, and started pounding away at the engine again.

* * *

><p><strong>Well. Hello. As is clear, I've updated twice this week. I'll continue to do so as long as I'm far enough ahead to be comfortable. I hope everyone likes it so far! "I passed high school science." SASSY BEN HA. <strong>

**And (*muffled laughter*) does anyone recognize Agent Smith? Mwahahahaha. He won't be around long, so enjoy him while he lasts. **

**Now, yet another thing. Apologies. Anyway, I recognize that one of my largest weaknesses as a writer is character - the characters that aren't the narrator tend to be shallow, cardboard cut outs. And fanfic? HA! I can't seem to grasp other people's characters. Of course, I'm probably massively hard on myself, but if any of you notice that Supernatural characters are acting super out of character, tell me! I'll try to fix it as best as I can.**

**Crowley, my muse, keeps throwing me ideas at 11. At night. So if this is all delirious, it's all his fault. I'm not getting enough sleep. XD.**

**Have a great weekend!**


	9. The Late Shift & The Not-Agent

It was late when Ben's shift ended, and the sky was dark. For May, it wasn't all that cold, but it got dark all at once, like a blanket dropped over the sun.

He gathered his things, careful to stay away from the killer car. The bloody red paint looked brown and rusted in the electric lights, like something gone rotten.

Ben didn't realize that the kid was still around until he was about to close the door and caught sight of a shifting shadow near the red car.

"Hey!" He called. "Get away! You don't want to-"

But it was too late. The kid had taken a set of keys to the side of the car, and was screaming at it for killing his older brother. All of a sudden, Ben realized he recognized the kid. It was Terry's kid brother. _Dammit_. He couldn't let him die.

Ben left his shop keys in the door and _sprinted_ for the kid, still screaming and hashing away at the car. The temperature dropped by ten degrees and Ben's breath huffed out in front of him in a plume, ice crystals crackling to the floor.

Warning bells tolled in his head, used-but-hidden senses and memories aching and that voice screaming _SALT YOU NEED SALT_.

A form, grey and black and dirt, a faded man with a wicked smile so sharp it looked carved into his face flickered into the space behind the boy. Time jittered, and he was gone. Then he was back, standing in front of the kid with a knife in his hands yelling, "_Y__OU HOOLIGANS ALWAYS SCRATCH MY CAR I'M GONNA MAKE YOU FIX IT OH I'M GONNA MAKE YOU **PAY**_!"

Ben threw the salt shaker at him, a plume of white with a missile behind it. It hit the ghost straight in the chest, spray of salt then case of salt, and the man burst into dust and black and white and was gone.

The empty container _dinged_ off the car and clattered to the floor with a dull sort of noise, like it was afraid to speak in the dark.

Ben scooped the kid back, hand going for his other pocket, the Ziploc of rock salt that was always there _always _there.

It was gone. Ben remembered too late how it had all spilled out of his pocket when he'd seen Terry just the other day _had it really been just yesterday_ and his heart picked up speed.

The ghost flickered back into sight, leering at the both of them now. Ben could see behind him the tiniest dent the heavy plastic shaker had inflicted on the car and thought, _Oh god this is it I'm gonna die._

The ghost jittered closer, closer. Ben could feel how the kid was holding his breath and shaking and he wanted to do the same but he kept backing them away, into the wall.

The knife appeared in the ghost's hand, and Ben sent up his first prayer.

The ghost turned, stopped. Looked up at the sky and _screamed_. Ben watched with incredulity as the ghost burned to nothing in the blink of an eye.

The crackle of flames could still be heard behind them, even though the apparition was gone. Ben turned to see through the door an Agent Smith, sorry, _Garth_, standing over an oil drum filled with flickering flames. The stench of burnt flesh radiated into the shop and Ben coughed, letting go of the kid and bending over double.

He couldn't believe it. He was still alive. And there were ghosts in the world. _Ghosts_.

The voice in his head just laughed.

* * *

><p><strong>Hello! D<strong>**id I stay true to Garth? Ghost scary enough? Ben react well? Dean-Voice helpful/unhelpful/amusing enough? This chapter is a little longer, thank goodness. **

**Oh. Right. So, I was rereading this to make sure I was staying true to Ben's voice and so forth, and I came across something I forgot to explain that will come in later. I didn't explain it in story because its a sort of inference thing, but I think I should state it because I know I am rubbish at noticing things like that. **

**Ben is able to notice and recollect these clues because he was a child. As he grows up, his mind is changing and children do have very strange minds. So the enchantment laid on him sort of _tries_, but there is only so much it can do. Since he's changed so much, its not able to keep him from noticing and remembering these things. They're just clues, after all. If anything _larger_ than a clue was to pop up, it'd be different. It's like that magic mud we all played with as a child - if you have little things poked in it slowly, it'll seep right through. If you try to slam your head through it, it'll stiffen up and stop you.**

**Probably a bad metaphor. I do lots of those. Anyway, hope you enjoyed the twice-weekly updates, and this one especially! **


	10. Aftermath

Ben had returned the kid to his mother, and sat with Garth on the couch in his tiny apartment. Brooding.

"So," he said eventually. "Ghosts are real. I can't say I'm surprised." And he wasn't. It felt more like a confirmation, someone telling him something he'd forgotten years ago.

Garth leaned in for a hug, and Ben stiffened until the man finally let go, sniffing. "You poor kid. I betcha you're itching to hunt now?"

Ben sighed deeply. "If stuff like that's out there... I have to gank it before it gets someone else."

The word _gank_ seemed to surprise both him and Garth. Garth let out a slight chuckle, seeming almost as young as Ben. "You've got the lingo down already, huh?"

He went as if to squeeze Ben's shoulders again, but to Ben's great relief, Garth's phone rang. He ignored it for a second, long enough to reassure Ben that he'd teach him everything he'd need to know. Then he pulled open his canvas jacket, exposing a _grid_ of cellphones. Ben gaped, but Garth went straight for the one that was spewing the toxically sweet ringtone.

Garth's face lit up as he flipped open the phone and Ben had to hold back a scoff - what kind of phone did you still have to flip open nowadays?

"Bess, sweetheart!" Garth said, sounding somehow even more naive and sweet than he usually did. Ben now resisted the urge to gag.

Then Garth's smile dropped off his face, replaced by an expression that reminded Ben of a kicked puppy. Another second, and the look intensified. Ben found himself wanting to give the other man a hug. He was growing on him, somehow. Like a fungus.

"Of course, sweetie." Garth said, trying to smile at the person through the phone. "I'll make it right back!"

Then he seemed to realize Ben was in the room, and his kicked-puppy expression went to level nine thousand. "Just give me a few minutes, Bessie, I have to sort some things out, then I'll be on the road." A pause. "New hunter." Another pause. "That's a great idea! Love you too." And he clicked the phone shut.

Ben gave him a _What the hell was that all about_ expression for as long as he could, which was approximately two seconds. "Who was that?"

"My wife. She's got a problem up at the church, a new bitten acting up." Garth sighed dejectedly. "And I was looking forwards to helping train you, but family calls."

Ben didn't even try to parse that. "So you can't help me?" It came out harsher than he had intended, and he tried for a smile. It came out as fake as Mrs. Master's boobs.

That image made him smile for real; a cocky little thing that Ben knew made him look innocent. Or at least, above guilt.

Garth muttered another something about an old friend, something about smiles and getting out of things, then shook his head. "Nah. Not gonna leave you with a ghost in your head. I'll call up a friend. She's about a year older than you, she can help."

Ben couldn't help it. "She?"

Garth looked offended as he could, which wasn't very. "Yes. She's the best hunter in this area that ain't tied down to a specific hunt." He stood, grabbing his duffel. "I'll call her on the way home. What's your address?"

_We're at my house right now, Garth_, be thought, but scribbled it on the back of an auto shop business card, handed it over. Then he looked away; images of the smoking oil drum and ghost on fire playing over in his mind. "...thanks for the save."

"No problem, buckaroo!" Garth said, back to his frighteningly cheery self. He opened his arms, gestured. "C'mere!"

Ben reluctantly gave him another hug and waved as Garth exited, running toward his AMC Pacer, which Ben personally disapproved of as a hunter's car. All he could think about was his apple green Impala, snug in the garage and somehow, after his horrible day, he smiled.

* * *

><p><strong>Yay! I think I actually managed to do a pretty good job with Garth, surprisingly enough. It was quite amusing working with him, really. He'll play a part, on and off. I mean, he was the Bobby, and even after he went werewolf, he offered to hunt with Dean. Makes sense that he'd get back to it. And since S&amp;D&amp;C are busy obfuscating random officials elsewhere or whatever it is they're doing without plot right now... Ahem. Anyway. Garth's the man. <strong>

**Just one more chapter (WITH BIG PLOTTY YAY) and then you get to meet someone else. You haven't _technically_ met her before, but I think you'll like her. And man, has she got some plot behind her. Like, almost more than Ben. Mwahaha. Crowley, you're a genius.**

**Oh, and it seems I lied about the season. Heh. I've finally caught up all the way, and now it actually seems to work better if it's set in around season ten. After the ghost-in-the-wifi episode, likely. Or later, since I'm totally unable to see the future. So when Dean's got a hold of the Mark and there really ****aren't any other problems hanging around besides misplaced angst.**

**I like the word angst. Ha. **

**Anyway, have a good week! Hope you enjoyed the chapter!**


	11. The Morning After & The Morning After

Ben woke up the next morning to the most aches and pains he'd had since... He didn't even know when. His whole body was protesting _something_ all right, and Ben scowled as he hauled himself out of bed. What had happened? Had Terry the lazy ass made him haul all the spare parts in from a shipment?

The memories hit with almost physical force, and Ben stumbled into his dresser, knocking down a picture of him and his mother taken at a fair last year. They were both smiling in the photo as it plummeted to the floor and Ben was too slow. The glass front shattered, spilling four or five photos onto his crummy wood floor.

Ben frowned. He didn't remember having more than three photos in that frame. He bent, trying to avoid leaning into the fragments of sparkling glass.

The fourth photo was already face-up and boring, one of an eleven year old him and Lisa at a science fair, Ben grinning like an idiot and holding a third prize. Lisa's eyes were focused on someone off to the side, and she was smiling with the light in her eyes Ben hadn't seen for so many years. She looked _happy_.

He turned the other picture over slowly, almost afraid of what he would find.

It was Ben, eleven, grinning. There was a shimmer in the air behind his head - heat from a barbecue. And there was a man next to him in plaid, so tall the top of his short-cropped hair was brushing the white border of the photo. His face was turned, but Ben could see that he was grinning widely and his hand was gripping Ben's shoulder.

Ben sat back with a **thump**, hands shaking. He was right. He was _right_.

But then the shiny paper rectangle seemed to warp in his hands, the man dissolving into thin air, their black iron barbecue taking his place. Ben scrambled to his feet, ran to the light where he could truly see that the true image was _gone_.

He'd hardly reached his bed when pain stabbed through his skull like an ice pick straight through to his brain. His legs went numb and he _f__ell_, eyes clattering shut. His eyelids flashed red, black. He took in a rattling breath, and then he was unconscious.

* * *

><p>Ben woke up the next morning to the most aches and pains he'd had since... He didn't even know when. His whole body was protesting <em>something<em> all right, and Ben scowled as he hauled himself out of bed. What had happened? Had Terry the lazy ass made him haul all the spare parts in from a shipment?

His head was throbbing too, and he pressed a hand to his temple, wincing. The pain was already fading, weirdly fast, and Ben's scowl deepened.

That's when he remembered.

The memories hit with almost physical force, and Ben stumbled into his dresser, grabbing onto the bare top for support. His foot slid, and searing pain ripped up his leg. He hopped to his other foot, cursed loudly. Stared in shock at the floor.

There was glass on the floor, and a frame, and four pictures. His foot was bleeding all over one of them, obscuring his mother's grinning face from his seventh grade science fair.

Ben cursed loudly, again, limped to his bathroom where he pried a piece of glass out of his foot and slapped a massive Band-Aid on it. It wasn't too deep, thank god, but he was going to be limping for the next week. Great.

Not the most auspicious start for a hunter-in-training. He groaned loudly, stumbled back over to his bed and flopped down. Something crumbled beneath him, and he sat back up.

It was a fifth photo, one of himself when he was about eleven, standing next to the barbecue and smiling, the heat rippling the air above his shoulder.

His headache throbbed.

Ben threw the photo back on the floor with the others, making a promise to clean up the glass and blood and photos in about ten minutes, when he wasn't so grumpy and likely to stumble into a shard of glass with his other foot.

What was the frame doing on the floor, anyway? It should've been on top of his dresser, safe. Not in irritatingly sharp pieces on the floor.

He put it off to adrenaline-rush fuelled clumsiness from last night. He _had_ been out of it. Seeing your first ghost tended to do that to a guy.

* * *

><p><strong>I am SO SORRY that this is a day late. Yesterday was absolutely insane and it didn't even cross my mind. Hope the length of the chapter makes up for it! Oh, and I'll be out of contact until probably about Friday. That's why Im not replying to reviews!<strong>

**Yeah. So that's what I was talking about with the clues vs proof and the way the angel enchantment works. I'd say that a photo is _really _in the proof category. So naturally, the enchantment draws the line there and knocks him out and wipes his recent memory. Basically proving to Ben that there's something up. Yay!**

**Next update includes that other character that I _love_. She's pretty epic, and really, this fic would be snoozeville (and also deathville) without her. I can't wait! And I really need to stop talking about her before I start spoiling things. **

**And ha, I bet you thought the chapter title was a typo at first. No. Definitely not. Mwahaha. You should all be afraid of Crowley. Very, very afraid. **


	12. The Fellow Hunter & Mr Moriarty

It was more than ten minutes later when Ben woke to a furious knocking on his front door. Light stung his eyes, and he cursed when he realized that he had fallen asleep yet again. If this wasn't his day off - Sunday - he would've probably been fired. And that wasn't good.

He swung his legs off the bed and stood, started cursing again. The phrases were beginning to feel useless in his mouth, sharp syllables tumbling over one another to announce his displeasure to the world at large. His foot throbbed, and he could feel more blood start to leak out. Great. Ben _loved_ being injured.

The knocks came again, sounding like they were one notch away from shattering his door into pieces. The silverware in the kitchen, next to the door, jangled with the kind of irritating ferocity you usually only see during earthquakes.

Ben hobbled to the door and wrenched it open mid knock. There was a girl standing there, and Ben only had the time to take in narrowed grey eyes directly level with his own before the girl slammed right through him as if he wasn't there. Ben couldn't help but be impressed as he began to topple, and even more impressed when she caught him with ease, shoving him back upright.

"Sorry," she said, slightly out of breath. "You do realize your neighbour is a demon, right?"

Ben's eyes went wide, and he scrabbled for some sort of weapon. Even his pyjama pockets had salt in them, and he stilled when he found it. Looked measuringly at the girl. "Is he really?"

Mr. Moriarty, while having the name of a devious criminal, seemed anything but. He was over eighty, and although spry for his age, couldn't go much faster than a snail.

She nodded seriously. "I can tell. Got the slight smell of sulphur," and Ben winced, that not-memory tugging on him again. "And then there's the fact that he's got his ear pressed to the wall right now, listening to you."

And with a movement so fast Ben almost missed it, the girl whipped a placemat out of her pocket, shook it out, and slammed it flat to the wall next to them with a _slap_.

There was a muffled screech from next door, and Ben's eyes went so wide he thought they might pop out of his sockets.

She grinned wickedly. "Ready for the first demon hunt, newbie?"

Ben nodded silently, shifted his weight and winced. The girl glanced down at the blood, sighed. "Might want to fix that first. I'll glue the demon to the wall."

Ben didn't even have words. He limped to the kitchen, keeping a close eye on his new hunter friend as she hummed cheerfully, sticking the edge of the placemat to the wall with tacks. The shouts from the other side were getting more irritated, and Ben shook his head. _His neighbour of nearly a year was a demon. And he hadn't noticed a thing_.

To be fair, though, he hadn't known about demons until yesterday.

_Fluffy winged asshats_, his inner voice said grumpily. It did that sometimes, a disjointed phrase, usually a complaint. Ben started, laughed, turned back to his bandaging. Tested it. It was in as good working order as a recently impaled foot was going to get.

The girl laughed as the old man started to curse. She glanced at him, standing steady on two feet now. "Staying in the pyjamas too?"

Ben went flame red and went to his room, changing into jeans and as his inner voice demanded, his only plaid shirt. The girl nodded approvingly as he came out, let go of the placemat. It stayed easily. "Better. Ready to gank the thing?"

Ben took a shaky breath. "Sure?" But then he stopped. "What's your name?"

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, now you ask." she muttered. "Usually that's the first question."

"You told me my neighbour was a demon!" Ben protested. "That was slightly distracting!"

She shrugged and offered a hand. "Amriel Grace. But call me Amy." And she shook his hand steadily, hand gripping his in a way that made him wish he was wearing an iron glove to protect his fragile fingers. Then she laughed, a short ironic little sound. "Ready now? Or do you need to comb your hair too?"

Ben ran a hand through his short hair self-consciously, and Amy smacked him. "Get a move on, Ben Braeden."

He started out the door, dripping only to marvel at the genius of the placemat... _Devils Trap_ the voice supplied. "How did you think that up?"

"I'm not an idiot." Amy said, pushing last him to bend over Mr. Moriarty's lock. Tiny sticks of metal appeared in her hands as if by magic and the lock clicked open just as quickly. The door swung open easily and Ben walked in behind her, feeling almost numb with shock.

_This was actually happening._

Mr. Moriarty's head was stuck to the wall with his ear pressed flat, and he was cursing loudly and with more vigour than most old men had. He looked at them with fury, eyes black as coals and shining with inner fire.

"You _hunters_!" he said with disdain. "Always got your pretty little rings of Solomon, because you don't have the balls to take us straight out." And then he scowled at Amy. "Brought your little hooker, did you, Benji?"

Amy kicked him in his old man nuts. Apparently, it was just as painful to demons as it was to humans, and Ben couldn't help but wince in sympathy.

Amy reached into the inside of her jacket and drew out a silver dagger, conical and almost plastic looking in its sheen. It didn't look sharp at first, but then Amy spun in around in her hand and the razor edge caught the light.

_That was some knife._

Amy studied the man as he groaned and tried to spew foul language at them. It sounded more like gargling than any other language Ben recognized. Her face was intent, and Ben gathered the nerve to nudge her arm.

She startled like a racehorse, head snapping up and chestnut hair flying. "_What_?" She snapped. Shook her head. "Sorry. What?"

"Isn't this the point at which we exorcise it?" Ben asked, gesturing at the man. The demon was already starting to recover his voice, although it was a good octave higher.

Amy shook her head. "Lesson one: just stab the demons. Unless you've got them good and trapped, like this," and she kicked him in the shin to make her point. He hissed, baring his teeth. Ben have him an appalled look, then turned it on Amy. She continued without so much as a wayward blink. "Unless you've got 'em trapped, kill them. Nine times out of ten, the host is too damaged to survive.

"Normally with someone like him, obviously on a reconnaissance mission, I'd say you could save the host." Amy shook her head, hair flying. "But I've seen this goon before. There's a file on him, Garth has it. Got shot to the head about five years ago. We keep track of all the known hosts for this exact reason."

Ben scowled, unhappy with the idea of killing the old man. "Aren't we supposed to save them, though? Isn't that the point?"

"Lesson two." Amy said grimly, all levity gone. "You can't save everyone."

She held her hand out, knife resting in the palm. "Take it."

Ben did, felt the warmth of the metal. Strange power seemed to thrum through it, resonate in the bones of his hand. Held it cautiously up, angled at the demon spewing vitriol. Amy nodded. "Go get 'em, Braeden."

And Ben brought his arm down.

* * *

><p><strong>Now, <em>this<em> is what you call a long chapter. 1325 words, not including my probably much-too-long authors note. I know I said I'd keep them short. I seem to have lied. And I'm super sorry for having it so late in the day. I've been baking like a maniac. **

**Does anyone like this new hunter? The one carting boatloads of plot and character and backstory? I've put tons of effort into her, and I have to say, she's got a pretty impressive first line. "Sorry. You do realize your neighbour is a demon, right?". **

**And just to tell you guys here, straight out... No. They aren't going to fall in love. If any of you here are just hanging around waiting for Ben to go all lovey-dovey on someone, I hate to break it to you, but it ain't gonna happen. This story is about Ben and Amy, fellow hunters, fellow friends. Amy just isn't interested, and Ben's far too busy trying to find clues and then angsting and then Amy is too busy angsting about her tragic backstory and main plot and then Amy becomes far too amused with herself and-**

**Yeah. Let's not spoil it all, shall we? Anyway, I just wanted to make it clear because it's happened before, people getting irritated and saying BUT WHEN ARE THEY GONNA FALL IN LOVE I SHIP IT. And they weren't ever going to fall in love.**

**Now, if you want to ship it, SHIP AWAY. I'm just saying that in this story, they're far too busy to get into all that drama. If you want to write your own thing in which they fall (maybe even literally?) in love, go ahead as long as you're like "ThatAloneOne made Amy". Not that I'm expecting that. I'm just being paranoid and covering every eventuality. **

**Again, I've talked too much. Go on with your week, and have fun!**


	13. Disposal & The Clue Book

Amy was off somewhere, disposing of Mr. Moriarty's body.

Ben still couldn't get over it all. Mr. _Moriarty_? Really? He should have figured something was up with the guy by his name alone. Actual people didn't tend to have names like that.

And Ben had killed the man. Brought that strange silver knife down on him. Watched as red-orange electricity arced and sparked and lit up the edges of his bones like an X-Ray in reverse. It was a demon, no doubt about that. The eyes were a dead giveaway.

Amy had said the man was already dead, and had told him that in most cases it didn't even matter. They couldn't save the hosts, never really could. But Ben still felt terrible about it, could feel the give of his flesh and _crack_ of his brittle bones-

Ben shivered, wrapped his arms around himself. To be honest, it had been Amy's eyes that had spooked him the most. Gone was the laughter, the giggles, the stark amused honesty. Instead, there had been something dead and yet still gazing out through glassy eyes.

_Everyone starts hunting somehow_, his inner voice said, sounding so, so pained. _Its never happy._

Oh, and there was also the fact that Ben was going stark raving mad. That too. He was _loving_ the gruff little voice in his head, the clues mounting up to insane. At least he'd got another piece of the puzzle with this.

That gruff little voice belonged to a hunter. The hole in his life had been left by someone like he was now, someone not afraid of the things that went bump in the night.

He meant to ask Amy about that when she got back. Was it normal for hunters to be in the middle of psychotic breaks? Or was it just him. Ben The Weird strikes again.

He almost laughed at that. Well. At least he wasn't _Ben The Boring_ anymore.

He got to his feet - left still complaining - and made his way to the cupboard where he kept his cleaning supplies. The blood would be dry by now, which was irritating. He'd have to scrub it. And the photos were likely ruined. Ben didn't have many photos of when he was younger. When he was about eight, they suddenly got a lot scarcer, all the way up until he was thirteen.

He wondered if he should've included that in his clues.

_The clues. _

Ben dug them out from beneath his boxers, a tiny notebook with scribbled ideas and notions and emotions. Not knowing why, Ben shoved it in his jeans pocket. He didn't want it out of his sight, not knowing that his neighbour had been a demon and likely spying on him.

That was another thing that he needed to ask Amy. What the _hell_ was so special about him that he warranted a special demon eavesdropper?

He scribbled that down as a clue before he could think better of it, then turned the book to a new page and started jotting down all of his questions. It made him feel a little better to see it on paper, stark black against white space and blue lines. It made Ben feel a little less insane.

But only a little.

Ben tossed the pictures of the science fair and barbecue - ruined - and swept the last shards of glass into the trashcan. The other three photos went back into the frame, and the frame back on top of his rickety dresser.

Back to normal. Whatever normal was now, anyway.

* * *

><p><strong>Hello again, readers! You've been so great with reviewing it really makes my day. Shoutout to the guest reviewers, 'cause I can't reply directly to yours. Thanks, Armand, for the awesome "Bromance, not romance". That made my day.<strong>

**About the chapter length - Eek! Sorry! I end the chapters when there's a natural lull in the story. Which basically makes for pretty short chapters for the most part. That's why I accelerated it to twice a week because it's really awful having such teensy tiny parts.**

**Oh, and to answer a question I _know_ all of you are thinking - _WHEN IS DEAN COMING IN?_**

**Good news - I've planned up to that part. Bad news - it's not for a while. That's for a couple of reasons. One, Ben and Amy are about to embark on a full-fledged case. And I mean _full-fledged_. There's investigation, monsters, drama, weapons, plot developments. Whole hog. Two, I need to develop Ben and Amy as characters before that happens. This is both for me as an author (figuring out what they're like) and you as a reader, seeing what they do. Three, I'm still super duper nervous about writing actual canon characters. It'll take a while before I'm ready. Currently, I have no flipping idea of how to write Dean. Or Sam. Or Cas. And they're all gonna be in it at some point. So yay for that.**

**One last thing - I was almost ****disappointed that nobody commented on the knife from last chapter. Silvery, conical, almost plastic looking in its sheen? Killed a demon? I truly do wonder what that could be.**

**Anyway, I hope you all have a terrific week!**


	14. Questions & Strange Tea

There was a knock on his door, and Ben nearly had a heart attack before he heard the scratching of a key in the lock, and let go of the Ziploc of salt. It was Amy. He'd given her his spare key, because really, the fastest way to trust someone was to kill a demon with them.

If they didn't seem to think you were insane, and they didn't try to kill _you_, they were trustworthy. At least in Ben's book.

She swung the door open, stepped inside. Her shoulder length chestnut hair was braided back now, and only a few wisps straggled in her face. She looked straight at him, grey eyes serious, but not dead. "I'm assuming you have questions."

Ben waved the little book half-heartedly. "A couple."

Amy smiled, rolled her eyes. "Of course." She seemed happier now that the demon was out of sight, out of mind. That, or it was the idiocy Ben was displaying. He didn't particularly care which.

"So," he said. "Uh." Tried to remember what he was going to ask.

"I need a drink," Amy told him. "Where's your kitchen?"

Ben frowned. "I don't have any alcohol-"

She fixed him with eyes that made steel look flimsy. "I meant tea, dumbass. You got a kettle?"

Ben felt silly. "Oh. Uh, yeah. An electric one."

Amy scoffed, as if this was a paltry offering unworthy of her attention. "Electric." Then she grinned. "This is going to be so much fun."

Ben followed her into his kitchen, made himself comfortable at the table. The table wasn't big, like his apartment, but Ben liked it. He'd made it himself, he thought, some time when he was younger.

With a frown, he realized that he actually didn't remember making it. Just standing looking at it, thinking, _Cool. I made it!_

He resisted the urge to jot that down in his book.

The girl puttered around, getting water from the tap, honey and lemon juice from the cabinet and fridge. Ben didn't understand how she needed those for tea, but he led with a more important question. "How did you-"

He was going to say _know Moriarty was listening_, but Amy cut him off before he could start. "-start hunting? Yeah. Gimme a sec."

Ben closed his mouth. Amy poured the boiling water and lemon juice and honey into a green mug, stirred it, sat down in his only other chair. She took a sip as if to steel herself, and then started. "Two things just quick - if you hit on me, I _will_ hit _you_." And by the look on her face, Ben could tell that she meant it.

He gulped. "Wasn't thinking of it. Got the message."

"Loud and clear." And Amy laughed for a second, letting herself enjoy his shock. "Had to lead with that. Last time Garth hooked me up with someone, that someone tried to hook himself up with _me_. I made sure he sang soprano for the next month."

Then she sobered slightly, took another bracing gulp of her weird tea. "I started hunting when I got possessed by a demon."

"I'm so sorry," Ben found himself saying. "That must've-"

"Sucked. Yep." Amy kicked the nearest leg of the table, making the slightly unbalanced structure rattle back and forth in fright. "Luckily for me, it decided it liked my twin brother better. My parents were dead, and apparently I wasn't worth the effort. Got in contact with Garth somehow, and _voila_," she gestured to the room. "Hunter."

Ben closed his mouth, not realizing it had dropped open. "That's terrible!"

"You're telling me." Another sip of tea. A forced grin. "Alright then. Question two?"

"How did you know that-" Ben was rudely interrupted from his question by a headache so sudden and blinding that he felt his head had just been run over by the possessed car. He let out a hiss of breath, clutched his temples.

He could vaguely hear Amy asking if he was okay, but there was this awful high-pitched ringing in his ears and it _hurt_.

Ben came back to himself so abruptly he felt like he'd been hurled off a train. Amy's ice-cold hand was pressed to his forehead and as the headache ebbed, he almost felt like a vice had been released, something that was holding a bit of him back.

Amy shrieked, whipped her hand back like it had caught fire, shook it. "What in the _world_?"

Ben had a few, less family friendly, things to say about his headache.

They stared at each other for a few seconds.

Ben was the first to speak in something other than expletives. "Does that usually happen?"

Amy shook her head, her eyes curiously bright. "I was checking to see if you had a fever and then my had went cold as a ghoul."

They both scowled at each other before Amy took another swig and Ben sighed deeply and asked her everything he could think of about demons and ghosts and _ghouls_ and werewolves and vampires and everything else he could think of.

He was amused and slightly disturbed that he'd been right about werewolves and hearts, vampires and sunscreen. It made him feel a little safer, a little less like the next Big Bad Thing was just going to eat him.

Now, Ben could fight back.

* * *

><p><strong>Go Ben! Believe in yourself!<br>**

**Anyway. ****Thanks again to all the people that reviewed! I'm so glad everyone's so supportive, you guys rock. I'll keep writing this for as long as this story makes sense. I'm not the type to abandon a story I am _this _far into. And man, am I far into this one. It's looking like the case'll be about fifteen parts, at least. Then some plot. Then more. Then uh, Dean? Then stuff. Basically the devious Crowley you should be expecting.**

**Thanks so much to my friend and first-line editor. You have a bazillion times better Supernatural memory than I do. Plus, you actually know how to write fan fiction. :)**

**Again, any thoughts on Amy? I know, I know, I'm pestering you. And she's an OC. Ish. I just can't help but like her, since I'm, you know, writing her. I seriously can't wait until her part in the story starts becoming more obvious.**

**Have a fabulous weekend!**


End file.
